Heartlines
by ZellaPrell
Summary: Bella has had six years to heal from losing Edward, channeling her hurt and anger into her world-class music. How will her carefully placed facade hold up when he finds her? M for lemons.


**A/N**_  
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**Hello there, everyone! So, this is my attempt at what will hopefully be a more serious story that what I've written in the past. Let me know how you like it! **

**A few notes before we begin:**

**1) This story begins about six years after Edward left Bella to "protect" her. Basically, Eclipse and BD never happened in this world.**

**2) This story also diverges slightly from typical character lines. Most significantly, here, Bella is a cellist. That whole history isn't fully explained in this chapter, but to summarize, she has played her whole life, but only seriously after Edward left. More to come on that later.**

**3) SM owns the universe. Including all these characters (minus the couple I can come up with on my own) **

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_Tragically happy. A classic beauty, really, yet somehow haunted. There's something we don't know about her. You can hear it in her playing style. She's perfect._

Peter's remarks echoed around in Bella's head, drawing her away from the glow of the nighttime party. She was hopelessly trapped in that moment from just days earlier, during which her agent had won her a concert deal with the New York Philharmonic as part of their upcoming season. It was an incredible opportunity, playing with one of the best orchestras in the world, and she should have been thrilled. She should have been celebrating, enjoying the party being thrown in her honor. All her family was there to congratulate her, Charlie with his closest friends from back home in Forks, Renee and Phil with his latest call-up to play in the major leagues. Her best friends, both from Forks and her time in Cambridge and New York had made the drive to the rented estate where the celebration was being held, a few miles outside of New York City. It should have been a happy moment, a time for relaxing and simply basking in the achievement she had attained.

However, Peter's words were unshakeable. He was right. More right than he could have ever known. And his speculation that there was something secretive about Bella reminded Bella herself exactly what that secret was. She had worked for years to suppress it. Some days, his name was just a passing thought as she rifled through a newspaper article he may have enjoyed or passed a particularly beautiful overlook he would have appreciated while speeding down the highway. Some days, she thought his name just to test herself, or to reassure herself that she was okay without him. Everyday, when she pushed her Audi Spyder over 120 mph, it was with a little taunt, a little dare..._come protect me now_.

Peter had shattered that carefully crafted facade. He brought back every memory of _him _that represented both the best time of Bella's life and the one thing she didn't have now, when she should have been on top. It was eating away at her, and even as she gazed out at the crowd of partygoers, all she could see was his face, feel his touch, and hear his voice with Peter's observation laid over it: _tragically happy. Tragically happy. Tragically happy. _

The party itself was a black tie affair, held in a mansion rented out from one of Phil's well-to-do baseball friends. The place was packed with almost everyone Bella and her parents knew, many University professors that Bella had studied under, and a few of the Philharmonic executives here to wish her well. In all reality, it looked like a wedding, held at a glitzy estate with everyone dressed to the nines and holding sparkling glasses of champagne, all funded by Bella;s previous forays into recording contracts and Phil's new major-league position.

None of it seemed to matter, though, with such other things weighing on her mind. Discreetly, she glided down the staircase from her perch overlooking the hall and maneuvered her way through the dense crowd. She ignored the shouts of "Bella! I've been looking all over for you, dear!" and "Ahh, the lady of the hour!" and pushed her way to the enormous French doors that led out onto the back lawn, where an enormous turquoise pool surrounded by softly lit stones glowed in the night. On her way out she grabbed a glass of merlot off of a gilded serving tray and swept out onto the dark patio.

The space was mostly empty, with most people already having retreated to the indoors, where it was warmer. The last few stragglers were prodded along by the beginnings of a rainshower. Bella took cover beneath a canvas canopy and sipped delicately at her wine.

It had been just over six years since she had seen him. No longer was she the fragile, dramatic seventeen-year-old of her Forks days. Now, at twenty-three, she seen more of the world and met more people than she ever thought possible, but he still lingered on her mind. Her short time with him had changed her irrevocably, making it impossible for her to love anyone else with such passion. It was ridiculous, really, for her to still hold on so fiercely to his memory like that, but that's how she was. It was impossible, really, for her to let go of those moments spent in their meadow, the times he told her he loved her, when he played for her. They were branded upon her soul, however she may have tried to shake them off.

And try she did. After he left Forks, she sat for months in depression before gathering every penny she could and buying a plane ticket to the farthest place from home that she could: Ireland. She wandered around the hamlets and villages for a month or two, before her savings finally ran out. Charlie tracked her down by then, bringing her, sad and defeated, back to the place that seemed to scream his name everywhere she turned.

Within weeks of her return, though, she was accepted to every college she'd applied to. Dartmouth, however, was immediately out of the question. She couldn't go there knowing it was his idea, where every day would simply be a reminder that he was gone. Charlie was perplexed by this, but quickly accepted the change, especially since it meant she would be attending Harvard instead. There, in Cambridge, she pursued an English degree for two years before realizing that she had no passion for the subject. It was beautiful, yes, but not a way she wanted to spend her life.

There, at a crossroads, she made a choice that would change the way her life would continue. On advice from Charlie, she prepared an audition for the Juilliard School. She never expected to make it in, although following his leaving, she had started to play again, able to lose herself for hours at a time to the all-encompassing task it was to play the cello. The audition panel acknowledged that her technique wasn't yet world class, but accepted her anyways based on their perception of something the called "raw fire." They saw in her a struggle, and struggle is necessary to play great music. Feeling can't be faked, they told her. And really feeling was not something she lacked.

So, for almost three years, she practiced. She studied under the best, playing night and day, signing deals with pit orchestras for musicals and score orchestras with movies in any attempt to scrape together some cash. In the middle of her second year, she worked on a studio record with a contemporary string quartet that reached the top twenty in album sales for the year, however anonymously for her. The monetary benefits, however, were well worth the relative lack of appreciation for her own skill on the piece.

And here she was now. Surrounded by wonderfully educated people, slated to be a soloist with one of the best orchestras in the world, living in a beautiful city, and yet somehow, completely unhappy. She couldn't help but focus on what was missing instead of what she had. For now, then, she decided, she would simply sip her merlot and muse.

Time passed. The party roared on, even in her absence, and cars meandered up and down the drive at a slow but steady pace. The rain had turned harder, coming down in sheets. Bella had finished her wine long ago, and had managed to remain mostly dry beneath her canvas sanctuary.

Out of the blue, a whim hit her. She stood from the pool chair she'd been occupying, pulled out her hair pin, and unzipped her black, floor-length gown, stepping out of it into the cover of the dark night. As quick as that, she swan-dove into the pool, basking in its luxurious warmth. She let herself glide through the water, sinking to the bottom and then pushing off to the top, losing herself in how good the water felt on her skin. She simply floated on her back, then, so relaxed, in spite of her exposure, that she could clearly imagine how her name sounded as it rolled off of his tongue. _Bella. Bella. Bella Bella Bella._

"Bella."

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_**oooooooooooooooooohhhhh my...**_

**_I'd love to hear from you all, so review, please! :) :)_**

**_~Zell_**


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